


A Boy Like That Wants One Thing Only

by jono74656



Category: Glee
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, Implied Violence, M/M, Not Klaine/Blaine Friendly, Santana being Santana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jono74656/pseuds/jono74656
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany convinces Santana to go to Scandals the same night Kurt and Blaine visit. On arrival they hear a commotion in the parking lot, and end up intervening when they hear a familiar voice crying for help.</p><p>'The First Time' AU written by a Kurt stan and Anti-Blainer/Klainer.</p><p>NOT FOR KLAINE/BLAINE FANS</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boy Like That Wants One Thing Only

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This one's been percolating through my head ever since I first watched 'The First Time'. The episode left a bad taste in my mouth, and I've been meaning to write a fic about it for a while. Then I was ambushed by a plot bunny, and here we are...

A Boy Like That Wants One Thing Only

 

Santana sneered as she glanced idly round the parking lot of the bar Brittany had directed her to. Her girl had gotten really excited when she'd overheard Porcelain and Short Trousers discussing visiting the place with another Warbler, and had all but insisted that they should go too. 

It was nice to think that this was a place where they'd be accepted for who they were, where they wouldn't have to hide, or conform to the wishes of the small minded bigots who made up the majority of the populace of this pathetic excuse for a town.

It had taken some convincing, but Santana had to admit that the idea was appealing, and she was looking forward to getting her grind on on the dance floor without worrying about giving some Bible-basher a coronary. Plus, there could be other lesbians there, and she could show off Britt, show them all that she'd snagged the hottest piece of ass in all Ohio.

Britt swaggered round from the other side of the car and linked her pinky with Santana's, the two of them turning in synch and prowling towards the door. 

The bouncer's face was a mix of appreciative and apprehensive, which made Santana purr inwardly with satisfaction. Her and Britt were the baddest lesbo power couple to ever hit this dive, and it was nice to see the plebs realised this.

Just as they approached the bouncer, whose expression suggested he was trying to decide if he should risk asking for ID, a familiar voice echoed round the deserted parking lot, and Britt turned, yanking Santana after her as she headed in the direction of the voice.

They passed a few parked cars, then saw one with the interior lights on, back door ajar, figures wriggling on the back seat. At first Santana assumed they were just two people getting it on, but then a cry of “Blaine stop!” came from one of the figures, and she looked closer, eyes widening in shock. 

Hummel was pinned on his back on the seat, Anderson on top of him, half between his legs. Anderson's hands were tearing at the fasteners of Hummel's pants, while he planted sloppy kisses on Hummel's pale face and neck. Hummel's hands were scrabbling against Anderson's back, trying to get leverage to push him away. Kurt's eyes were bright with fear and pain, unshed tears glistening as he tried to fight off the boyfriend who claimed to love him. Anderson slurred, “Come on Kurt, I'll make it so good for you,” while pinning Kurt to the seat, his compact, muscled frame overpowering the willowy body beneath him. 

Kurt drew his legs up and kicked out, but Anderson was in too close. A second later, a cry of pain rang out as Anderson, apparently incensed by Kurt's refusal to give it up, lashed out, fist nailing Kurt right in the eye and causing him to slump back, semi-conscious. Anderson took advantage of this to rip Kurt's pants down, lifting Kurt's knees up and back to expose him while fumbling with his own pants.

Santana took all this in in the blink of an eye, but Brittany was faster, lunging forward with a broken scream, latching onto Anderson's shoulders and trying to pull him away from Kurt. 

Anderson turned on her, frustrated anger rendering him ugly as he punched her to the ground, drawing a leg back as though to kick her.

Santana became aware that her focus was narrowing, red tingeing the corner of her vision as she saw Brittany land on the ground, saw Anderson's leg drawing back, saw Hummel, exposed and terrified, still struggling to get up, to protect Brittany. All reason faded as she took one step, then another, and threw herself at Anderson with a feral snarl...

…..........................................................................................................................................

…..... As the red mist lifted Santana took in Anderson, curled in the foetal position at her feet, moaning softly as he rocked on his side; She also suddenly realised that Kurt and Britt each had hold of one of her arms and were physically holding her back. Foul curses dropped from her lips as she glowered down at Anderson, denied the pleasure of ripping him limb from limb, but determined to leave a lasting impression of exactly what happened when you touched Britt, hell, when you touched any of Santana's friends.

She relaxed, and stopped fighting against Kurt and Britt's hold, and turned to check on them both. Hummel was holding his pants up with one hand, the other now loosening around her arm; an ugly bruise was already blossoming on his pale skin, and it stretched across one whole side of his face, from the forehead almost to the chin, glasz eye a stark contrast to the purpling flesh surrounding it.

Britt looked less the worse for wear, Anderson's fist had glanced off her cheek, the momentum of the impact rather than the force of the blow having sent her tumbling to the ground. She was glaring at Anderson, murder in her eyes, but as soon as Santana relaxed she released her arm, and turned instead to start fussing over Kurt.

Santana squatted down next to Anderson's head even as the bouncer and several of the bar's patrons, alerted by the noise, began to swarm across the parking lot towards the commotion. She grabbed the scruff of his neck, forcing him to uncurl from the foetal position and face her. The long blood-red fingernails of one hand landed spider-like across his face, applying just enough pressure to make sure she had his undivided attention as he leaned in to whisper in his ear,

“You touch either of them. You even look at either of them, ever again, and I. Will. End. You. Hell, I find out you've tried to pull this shit on anyone, and I'll tear you to shreds on principle. We clear, asshole?”

She dug her nails in a bit further for emphasis, and savoured his stifled whimper of pain even as he nodded frantically, trying to crawl backwards away from her. 

The bouncer finally arrived, huffing from the run, closely followed by a figure she recognised, and one she didn't. The stranger, a lean, tan boy with a naturally-smirky cast to his features, took in the scene and immediately drew his leg back ,nailing Anderson in the balls. Kurt suppressed a snort at this, and the boy gave him a cautious nod before disappearing back toward the bar, muttering under his breath about assholes as he went.

The other figure heaved Anderson up off the floor, cursing as he started vomiting almost immediately. Karofsky all but folded Anderson in half to avoid getting any on him as the combination of the booze he'd drunk and the balling he'd received overwhelmed Anderson, causing him to vomit copiously all over the place. The bouncer made the face of someone who'd seen this shit before and headed for the bar, clearly in need of sawdust, and a mop.

Once Anderson stopped spewing up everywhere, Dave hauled him away, other hand digging in his pocket for his cell, mouthing 'cops' at Santana as he went. 

She smirked at the thought of Lord Prep School getting hauled away in 'cuffs, then turned, smile falling from her face as she saw Kurt and Britt huddled together, Britt's hands stroking through Hummel's hair soothingly as she whispered non-stop in his ear. The words 'Alien Invasion' filtered over to her and her fists clenched reflexively, if she ever found the douchebag who'd climbed into Britt's sleeping bag she would kill him, and she would sleep happily afterwards. Britt had never been the same since that fucking camping trip. 

She walked over next to them, and gingerly rested a hand on Kurt's shoulder, squeezing gently. It was about the most comforting she was capable of being, and she could see from the slight smile Kurt threw her way that he recognised it for what it was, and appreciated it. 

After a moment, she reached down, drawing them both to their feet and turning them in the direction of her car, “Let's get out of here, this shithole's not worth our time anyway. Hummel, let's get you home and explain to your dad all the reasons he's not allowed to shoot Anderson, as satisfying as it would doubtless be. Besides, we need to get some ice on you stat, try to get that bruise down as much as possible, though it'll probably make you look even more badass as Officer Krupke than you already achieved in that costume, Britt's been whispering about borrowing your handcuffs and nightstick ever since she saw it.”

Giving the flushed gleek an over-the-top lecherous wink, Santana helped him and Britt into the back seat of her car, carefully ignoring the way her girl draped herself over Baby Gay like a living blanket. She knew he needed the comfort right now, but it still gave her flashbacks to all the times Britt had muttered about soft baby hands and goddamn duck fat, she didn't need that competition rearing its head again..

Maybe she'd manipulate Finnessa into taking Kurt with him when he finally wised up to the fact that the New Directions needed FishLips to stand a chance against the Troubletones. A nice visit to a strip club on ladies night was probably just what Porcelain needed, and besides, a private lap dance would give Sam all the incentive he needed to finally spill the beans about how he was in Big Gay Love™ with a certain alabaster-skinned countertenor.

She smirked to herself, she totally kicked ass at this whole shadowy power behind the throne thing, if Sam finally got his mack on with Kurt she wouldn't have to listen to his sappy calls any more, and she could spend more time having Sweet lady Kisses™ with her Britt-Britt. 

Win/Win as far as she was concerned. 

As for Anderson, Puckerman still had some contacts in juvie who'd make sure Lord Prep School did not have a pleasant time, no drop the soap Shawshank bullshit, but he'd learn his lesson, no-one touched the people Santana Lopez cared about.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I wrote this as one stream-of-consciousness in less than an hour, and it feels really good to get it down on the page. I've had fragments of plot and dialogue randomly running through my head for days, so maybe now it'll stop and I can concentrate on something else, like work.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think. 
> 
>  
> 
> Any Klaine shippers/Blaine stans who take issue with my portrayal of Blaine should remind themselves that it is CANON that when Blaine gets frustrated/angry/upset he punches things. (see the 3x08 and 3x15 punch bag scenes as proof) I am merely extrapolating from this.


End file.
